


There Should Be A Handbook For This

by jettiebettie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because I'm not ready to say goodbye to my favorite werewolf princess, Derek has feelings other than anger, Derek's Loft, M/M, Near Future, he doesn't handle it very well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jettiebettie/pseuds/jettiebettie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is not an abusive boyfriend. He really isn't. It doesn't matter whether or not they're actually dating. But the Blue Moon catches Derek off guard and his over-developed guilt complex kicks in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Should Be A Handbook For This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solitario24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitario24/gifts).



> For Lily, my Great Enabler, because she wanted something that took place in Derek's loft. Originally it was going to be about Erica's very possible death in season 3. My heart couldn't take it, so I stuck my fingers in my ears and went about my merry way. Denial is a beautiful thing.

“Dude, we're not even dating. This is all completely irrelevant.”

 Derek paused his hand in the middle of shaving, one stripe of smooth skin made visible.

 They're not even- Oh.

 Oh, right. He'd forgotten.

 -

The sweat on the back of his neck was the first sign that something wasn't quite right. Sweat and the coiling tension in his shoulders that wasn't normally there (not lately) and the buzz he could feel just under his skin. It almost itched, spreading over his skin slowly as the day went on. At first he thought the problem had been the ridiculous purple sweater Stiles had gotten him. Everything else he owned was in his hamper waiting for him to stop being lazy and to be hauled off to the laundromat. Eventually he had to take it off-

“ _No, man, come on! It looks fine, put it back on,” Stiles said, pulling the bottom of it back down as Derek tried to pull it over his head. Derek growled and struggled a bit. The sweater was already over his head and while he couldn't see Stiles, he could definitely hear the little shit failing to hold in his laughter. “Oh man, I know it's a little late for it, but do you think the store would play_ Purple People Eater _if I asked nicely?”_

“ _You're not funny.”_

“ _I'm hilarious. And so is this, actually; hold still.”_

_Derek was still drowning in the sweater, one arm in, one arm out. He was still able to hear the damning sound of a fake camera shutter. Quickly pulling the sweater back on, he saw Stiles grinning maniacally at his phone's screen. He was about to grab the damn thing when Stiles looked up and proceeded to laugh at him._

“ _Oh my god, dude, your hair!” He quickly took another picture and then threw himself out of reach as Derek made a grab for him. “This is the greatest. Wait until I show Scott.”_

“ _Show Scott and you'll be explaining to your dad why you need yet_ another _phone,” Derek threatened. Stiles pressed his phone to his chest and stuck his tongue out like a mature adult. “Why did I even agree to this?”_

“ _Because you hate doing laundry and have an extremely limited wardrobe. Seriously, do you even_ own _more than three shirts?”_

“ _Why does it have to be purple?”_

“ _Purple's awesome, dude.”_

-and he threw it onto the couch. He sits down next to it and tries to get comfortable, but everything seems to be setting off his senses. The residual scent of the pack in the loft, the dusk light through the tall, dingy windows, and the cold air on his overheated skin. He stretches out on the couch-

“ _Here,” Stiles said as he threw down an IKEA catalog onto the table. Derek raised an eyebrow at it. “This place is vacant.”_

“ _Your point?”_

“ _Are you kidding?” Stiles asked, folding his arms. “You've got your own little secret werewolf clubhouse now that's not at risk of falling down on everyone's heads or giving everyone Tetanus. Actually investing in some useable furniture is the next logical step,” he said, as if he has a check list in his head that he's going through. He probably does, Derek thought to himself._

“ _It's my place,” Derek asserted. “I'll put as much or as little furniture into it as I want.” He shoved the catalog back towards Stiles. Stiles, however, looked wholly unimpressed and just flipped it open._

“ _I went ahead and circled some stuff. The awesome spice rack and the bunk beds are just me projecting, but everything else is kind of essential.”_

“ _I'm not getting a spice rack.”_

“ _And,” Stiles went on, ignoring him. “You totally have to get this couch. My aunt in Oregon had one and it was awesome but she had to get rid of it 'cuz her dog was, like, having an affair with it or something.”_

“ _...”_

“ _I_ know _, right?”_

-but it's just not working. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Derek lifts himself up and heads toward the kitchen. He thinks maybe this is what having a cold feels like. Kind of achy, sensitive to everything, a constant headache. Or is that the flu? He's not really sure, but whatever it is, it sucks. But he remembers his mother saying something about people (humans) needing fluids when they're sick. He hopes there's still some water left in the fridge, especially after the newly imposed movie night two nights ago when he's pretty sure his pack eviscerated everything in the kitchen-

“ _Derek! Isaac took the last apple!” Erica yelled, trying to wrestle Isaac for the fruit. Isaac held her off with his forearm while he took a big, mocking bite of the apple and began to chew loudly._

“ _Ish shooooo good!” he taunted her, mouth full of half chewed bits. She promptly tackled him onto the kitchen floor. Scott and Boyd had gathered around them and started egging them on as Erica puts Isaac in a choke hold. Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and debated whether or not it was worth getting in the middle of it. He turned to where Stiles was hooking up the DVD player to the new flat screen TV mounted on the wall._

“ _It's your turn,” he said. Stiles looked up at him with an expression that clearly stated_ yeah right.

“ _They're your puppies, man.”_

“ _Seems like they're only mine when they're doing shit like this,” Derek accused. Stiles sighed, dropped the cords he was fiddling with, and stood up. Giving Derek a_ look _as he passed, he clapped his hands together to get the pack's attention._

“ _First one to the couch gets to pick what we watch!”_

_There was a stampede to the open area now labeled the living room. Derek was nearly bowled over, but managed to catch the apple that was tossed up into the air in the pack's rush to the couch. Stiles walked back over to the TV, plucking the apple out of Derek's hand as he went and taking a bite._

“ _Now you don't get to complain when Erica chooses a crappy rom-com.”_

-but he's lucky because there is still half a gallon left. He pops the lid starts drinking straight from the jug. Water falls from the corner of his mouth down his throat and onto his chest and that actually feels pretty good. He dumps the rest of it on his head and shakes out his hair. He's made a mess of the floor, but he can't really bring himself to care, because this has given him an idea. He leaves the jug on the counter and makes his way up the staircase and to his bathroom. Maybe a shower would make him feel better.

He unzips his jeans and kicks them off. Turning on the shower, he debates what would feel better, hot or cold? Instinct says cold, considering how overheated he feels, but he decides on warm at least and sits on the lid of the toilet-

“ _Hold still, sourwolf. You're not making this easy,” Stiles said, standing over Derek. The bullets are normal, no wolfsbane thank God, but they were in deep and made it hurt to breathe. Derek adjusts his position on the toilet lid yet again and Stiles sighs. “Seriously, dude. Stop moving. Your skin keeps closing up and that means I have to cut it again and I am_ this close _to throwing up, no lie.” Derek felt the press of a towel wiping away blood from his shoulder. Stiles hands were shaking now, as was his voice, and Derek tried to steady himself and breathe slowly._

“ _Just hurry up,” he said tightly._

“ _I'm_ trying _-”_

“ _I'll be still. Just get them out... please.”_

_It was quiet for a moment, just the sound of their breathing (Derek's ragged, Stiles' quick) reaching his ears. Then he felt Stiles' warm hand squeeze his clammy-skinned shoulder lightly._

“ _Yeah, okay.”_

-and waited for the water to get up to temperature. The buzz in his head is getting louder as the day gives way to night. He steps under the spray of the lukewarm water and almost immediately regrets it. He oversensitive skin protests and it sends an ache through him that causes him to stumble back before jumping out of the tub. He turns off the water but doesn't bother with a towel. Instead he walks into his room and grabs a pair of sweatpants from the hamper. Tugging them on requires more coordination than he feels he has right now and just what the hell is happening to him? He grips the handrail of the stairs tightly has he makes his way back down and that's when he finally notices it.

Through the windows the full moon shines brightly and Derek takes a shocked moment to count his days. This couldn't be right. The full moon was- Oh, Derek thinks. A Blue Moon. That's what he's staring at right now. But he shakes his head, confused. Blue Moons are nothing special to werewolves in terms of their effect. He shouldn't be reacting this way, he shouldn't be feeling like his body wants to give in _and that's it_ , Derek thinks suddenly. This horrible skin-crawling feeling he's been enduring. He remembers it now, from a long time ago when he was just a kid. It's the feeling of an uncontrolled shift, like his wolf is literally trying to break out of him.

Derek breathes in deeply, closes his eyes and tries to concentrate. He delves deep to find his anchor, to bring his anger to the surface in order to reclaim control. And nothing. He feels his anchor slipping away, becoming brittle and useless. The ache persists and Derek lets out the breath he'd been holding and panics for a moment. His claws have begun to grow and he could feel his fangs doing the same and he can't stop it.

The sound of someone entering the loft is impossibly loud and jarring.

“Derek?” he hears Stiles call out. He forces himself to sink into the shadows beneath the stairs. Stiles is looking around, duffel bag in his hand, heart beating at an elevated yet steady pace. “Hey, man,” Stiles says to the area in general. “Scott's handling the betas since you didn't show. You phone's turned off and Scott and Isaac say they've been getting weird vibes from you all day, so-” he holds up the duffel bag that jingles with the chains inside, “-figured I'd come and check on you.”

And it's like Derek can see and smell all of Stiles all at once. He scents the body wash and clean sweat that clings to his skin, the ridiculously fruity shampoo Lydia loaned him when he started growing out his hair. He smells the Jeep and Scott and the Sheriff. Pumpkin spice latte, something else ridiculously sweet, and-

And the spicy scent of arousal that all teenagers carry with them all the damn time. Derek's senses are on overload and he has to get Stiles to leave.

He growls low and lets his eyes burn red. Stiles starts for a moment, quickly turning to him. Upon seeing it was Derek, the scent of anxiety dissipated almost entirely. There was still a light breath of it about his person, but it had been mostly replaced now with relief.

Idiot.

“You alright, dude? You're doing the creepy, lurking thing again. I thought we broke you of that,” Stiles laughs, nervously. It makes something snap in Derek. He's across the loft in a matter of seconds and forcing Stiles back into the door. Stiles yelps and drops the bag. Stiles' anxiety has spiked again, and Derek can't help but breathe it in deeply before growling low again, baring his fangs.

“You need to leave,” he says slowly from behind clenched teeth. Stiles eyes jump from his red eyes to his fangs several times.

“What happened?” the teenager asks quietly. “What's going on, Derek?” He gasps when Derek grips his shoulders a little tighter, claws beginning to dig in. His face takes on a pained wince and it's enough for Derek to come back to himself for a brief moment. He lets go of Stiles, backs up to put distance between them. He turns his back to him, buries his hands in his hair, and tries to hold on to that thread of control. It breaks, however, when he feels a hand on his shoulder trying to get him to turn. He spins around and lashes out. The back of his hand catches something, hard, and he can hear something hit the ground and he's already running out of the loft and toward the woods before he can comprehend what just happened.

-

When he at last comes back to himself, he knows he's naked. He can feel twigs poking him in the ass and rocks under his thighs. He stares up at the morning sky through the trees until he realizes he's not alone. Turning his head, he can see Erica sitting on a large rock, legs crossed, chin resting in her hand, and an amused smirk stretched over her red lips.

“Good morning~” she sings and no. No, it's too early for this shit. Derek fights the urge to cover himself as he sits up, refusing to give her the satisfaction of his embarrassment. She shrugs and pulls out his sweatpants from behind her. They're worse for wear, but he's not feeling picky right now. She's quiet as he dresses, seemingly perfectly happy to watch. Finally, when he realizes she's not in any hurry to make with the explaining-what-the-fuck-happened-last-night, he asks,

“What the fuck happened last night?”

“Oh, honey,” she starts and yes. Yes, it really is too early for this shit. He gives her a look and she holds up her hands. “Hey, you're the one who went bizarro on Stiles, not me.” Derek's blood runs cold the second she says it, and snippets of the night before come back to him. His panic must have shown on his face because Erica continues quickly. “He's fine! Just a little bruised on his face. And in his pride, I imagine.”

“His face?”

“Yeah, you had an abusive boyfriend moment.”

Derek is sick all of a sudden. The easy way Erica says it offsets the immediate disgust he feels with himself. He stares down at his right hand as if it's a foreign thing. He so quiet that Erica's amused smile begins to drop.

“Um, okay, maybe that wasn't the best way to describe it-”

“Where is he?” Derek asks, cutting her off.

“He, uh- he's at the loft.”

Derek takes off without another word.

-

Stiles is cleaning up the water in the kitchen when Derek practically bursts through the door. There's an angry, but small cut high up on his cheek, under his right eye and the skin around around it is beginning to darken black and blue. The sight of it makes Derek's stomach turn. But instead of scorn, Stiles just looks surprised to see him.

“Hey, man. You look like you've had a crap night,” he says, sitting up on his knees and letting the wad of paper towels drop. Derek is still staring at his cheek, he can't take his eyes off of it and it seems to make Stiles uneasy because he turns his head and he stands, brushing off his knees. Derek is only a foot away from him when he straightens and the flinch he gives makes Derek's chest feel tight. He ignores it though and reaches a hand up to lightly turn Stiles' chin to get a better look. The cut isn't very deep, luckily, and it looks like it's already started to scab over. It's the bruise that's worrying and probably the part that makes it all look a lot worse than it really is. He lets a finger brush the bottom of the ring of color and Stiles pulls back a bit; it's still painful to the touch. Derek drops his hand and frowns. He swallows and looks down at his feet and tries to find a way to apologize. He can feel Stiles stare at him.

“It's, uh,” Stiles starts. “It's cool, you know. I know you didn't mean it. I mean, I hope you didn't mean it.” And Derek knows he looks like he's the one who's been hit because Stiles quickly backtracks. “Well, yeah, of course you didn't mean it, that's-”

“I'm not an abusive boyfriend,” Derek hears himself saying. He can't help it though; he needs Stiles to know this. “I didn't- I don't know what happened,” he tries to explain. “I couldn't... get a grip on myself and I-” he gestures vaguely with his hands. “I wasn't thinking straight and I was trying to get you to leave and you didn't and-”

“Whoa! Breathe!” Stiles tells him. He does, breathes deeply, and tries to get a hold of his words. Stiles is watching him with a wary eye.

“I'm saying I'd never hurt you if I could help it.” And it feel like a confession, like something he's been trying not to admit to himself or to anyone else. He feels like he's baring a part of himself he's been deliberately ignoring for these past few months and he's kind of freaking out because Stiles is giving him a _look_ (always with that look) and the kid snorts. Derek is having a crisis and this kid is laughing at him.

“Uh, remember the wall?” Stiles asks. Derek blinks. “And the steering wheel? And the intimidation scare-tactics and the frequent threats to my person and- Derek?” Stiles cuts himself off. Derek has taken a step back and turned to the counter. He grips it so tightly that it begins to crack and he lets his head fall into the cabinet. “Dude, you're freaking me out.” Derek hits his head against the cabinet again. “Um...” He hears Stiles rub his hands on his jeans and his his weight from one foot to another. Another slam into the cabinet.

“I'm an abusive boyfriend,” he says to said cabinet. He wonders where the nearest bridge is so he can throw himself from it. Stiles sighs and it ends in a frustrated sound.

“Me and my mouth,” he mutters to himself. “Look, Derek, it's not a big deal.” Derek turns to look him in the eye.

“Not a big deal? Everything you just said, all of it's true. You know what kind of people do those things?”

“Douche canoes?”

“ _Abusive boyfriends_ ,” Derek stresses. Stiles inclines his head as if to concede to Derek's point. Derek suddenly feels like he needs to be anywhere but here. Any fucking place but his kitchen with Stiles. He makes a bee-line to the stairs. Once on the second level, he shuts himself in his bathroom. Staring at himself in the mirror, he sees that Stiles was right. He looks like crap. His carefully sculpted five o'clock shadow is on its way to being what Stiles calls a hobo beard and no, he really needs to not think about Stiles right now. Turning on the sink, he gathers water into his hands and splashes it on his face, scrubbing it into his skin. He does this a few more times before grabbing his shaving cream and a razor.

He's on autopilot, the only thing going through his head is _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_ and he's going through every interaction he and Stiles have had and he really just wants to choke on this cream rather than smearing it on his jaw. He pauses for a moment when he hears the sound of Stiles climbing the stairs and letting himself flop back against the wall next to the bathroom door.

“Dude,” Stiles says after a few seconds of silence, “we're not even dating. This is all completely irrelevant.”

And Derek stills his hand mid swipe. That's right, he thinks slowly. They're not, are they? He washes off the blade and continues. Except that doesn't quite seem right because if that were actually true why does he feel as shitty as he does?

“I mean, I'm all for “treating Stiles better,” but I think you're probably freaking out about this more than you should, you know?” Stiles asks through the door and Derek is using a towel to clean off the excess cream. “Like, save that concern for someone _you care_ about, yeah? I feel like you've probably got a limited ration of that particular emotion, so don't waste it on me. Because seriously, I'm _fine,_ okay? _We're_ fine and-”

Derek rips the door open before Stiles can finish and knows he's glaring.

“What did you say?”

“Uh. What part?”

And Stiles is staring at him with such naked confusion that Derek can't stop himself, he really can't. He has Stiles pressed up against the wall and hands framing the teenager's face. He leans down and presses his lips to Stiles' and he can hear the other's heart begin to race. But he's still, statue-still and Derek leans back to look at him. Stiles eyes are almost comically wide, mouth hanging open slightly, cheeks flushing so much that the blush is mixing with the angry red of the cut. Derek thinks he might have even stopped breathing. He presses a hand gently just under Stiles' sternum. The kid takes a hint and inhales almost too quickly. He swallows and Derek watches his Adam's apple bob and brings a hand down to the column of Stiles' neck. His heart sounds like it's about to beat out of his chest and Derek kisses him again.

This time Stiles makes a noise, close to a squeak, but Derek moves his hand back to the nape of his neck, leans his head to the side a bit and-

And that finally does it. Stiles brings his hands up to Derek's hair and slots his lips more fully onto Derek's and Derek finds his hands moving to Stiles ribs and waist. When he leans back, Stiles' mouth follows him and latches onto his lower lip and is pulling him back, tongue darting out. Derek presses a knee in between Stiles' legs and it causes Stiles to gasp, enough for Derek to press his tongue _in_ and-

“ _JESUS_!”

Stiles' head jerks back so quickly he hits it against the wall.

“Ow! Fuck, Scott! Really?”

Derek presses a hand against the wall in order to collect himself.

“Oh my god! I can't unsee it! What the hell, Stiles?” Scott is rubbing at his eyes dramatically and Isaac is standing next to him looking vaguely amused. Nodding toward Derek, he grabs the back of Scott's hoodie and drags him back down the stairs.

“We're just gonna go hang out with Allison and the others. Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” Isaac calls up.

“Oh my god, no! Don't encourage them!”

“Shut up, Scott!” Stiles calls after them. They both wait until they hear the closing of the door to the loft before relaxing against the wall once more. Stiles is still blushing all the way down his neck and Derek finds it distracting enough to not contemplate breaking Scott's face. Stiles is glaring skywards as if he hates everything and everything hates him. Derek drags his nose up his neck and rests it just under Stiles' ear. Stiles shivers but brings his hands up to Derek's chest anyway.

“I'm not gonna be an abusive boyfriend.”

“ _Shut up_ about abusive boyfriends or I'm going to punch you in your freaking _soul,_ Derek, I swear to God-”

Derek kisses him again. Stiles gives him a light punch to the chest but kisses him back.

**Author's Note:**

> TIME TO FIND A NEW ANCHOR, DEREK. WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT THE UNDENIABLE POWER OF HUMAN LOVE?


End file.
